Some elections are so close you can't look away, but this one is so dull I’m going to Glastonbury

So tense is this election, the SNP and Tories have already been briefing out the election result, telling everyone who will listen that Labour are home and dry, so why not give some plucky underdogs a go.

The Tories are a total car crash, with Rishi Sunak delivering a campaign that makes Scotland’s Euro performance look inspiring. It’s over, it’s done and everyone knows it.

So I’m sacking it off, I’m getting away and heading to Glastonbury Festival for the best five days of the year. In previous elections, I might have wondered if I can miss work during such an important time. But in truth, what is possibly going to happen in those few short days? Will the Prime Minister accidentally call someone by the name of their constituency again? Will his best mate be caught placing a second bet on the election? The damage is done.

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be dancing badly in a field wearing an outfit that will have as many sleeves as the number of Tory gains (zero). And I cannot wait.

I love Glastonbury and have done ever since I first rocked up to it in 2010. I went with friends from school and spent it consuming an ungodly amount of pills not because it was fun, but due to cutting my mouth open playing football and needing a lot of antibiotics. I couldn’t chew properly, needed a straw to drink, and never stopped smiling.

Getting the ticket itself is already overwhelming, a feeling akin to winning the lottery if you were the one paying out extortionate sums of money. But my God is it worth it.

It’s not just the music, but the scale of it – a whirlwind of art, comedy and people universally all so happy to be there. It’s falling in love with an act you’ve never heard of, watching the sunset from the top of the hill, and seeing your favourite acts with your best friends. It’s being overwhelmed by just how much there is to do, walking past a Notting Hill carnival parade like it’s nothing, and convincing yourself you still look nice despite showers being replaced by wet wipes.

What makes it even more special for me this year is what I won’t be hearing. What Sir Keir Starmer’s father does for a living, or how the SNP think Labour aren’t progressive enough. Or another Sunak non-apology.

I’m not missing the big day itself, but the banal preamble of politicians saying it best, when they say nothing at all.

Sure, there are some narratives. The Prime Minister could lose his seat, so might an array of his ministers and Labour could be the biggest party in Scotland. But while these are not unexciting events, they’re also things we’ll just know when we know. Unless Starmer literally starts demanding pensioners’ taxes at gunpoint, it’s over.

This election has been beyond flat. Instead I’m going to drink Bloody Mary’s at breakfast, scream along at Avril Lavigne and ban myself from thinking about the election. It’s going to be special. It always is.